Page 74 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Chapter Fifteen

It was Wednesday morning, and as I entered the dining room for breakfast the sound of Louise’s digital radio came from the kitchen. It was a local news bulletin:

‘The two unexploded bombs located in the Loch Crawe area are to be detonated at lunchtime today. Bomb disposal experts attending the scene have confirmed that the devices are now safely contained inside the man-made sandpit construction. It has been confirmed that the bombs will be detonated at one o’clock this afternoon.’

Oh. Wow! That was great news. It surely meant I could go home later on today. I could return to Strath Ross. I’d see my grandpa.

There was no sign of Evan, Dane, Alison or Bennett at breakfast, so I drank my tea, crunched on my oat cereal and slapped apricot jam on my toast on my own.

Louise sidled up to the table out of nowhere. ‘God, Louise! You made me jump!’

‘Sorry.’ She was carrying a small white paper bag. She handed it to me. ‘Some reading for you,’ she remarked cryptically before vanishing again.

I set down my slice of golden toast and wiped my buttery fingers on a napkin.

Inside the bag was a worn, brown leather notebook. When I opened it, I was confronted by reams of neat, looping black handwriting and the name Montgomery Johnson on the inside left page. I turned over a few more pages and saw Florence Menzies’s name mentioned over and over. This must be the research notes Louise’s Dad made about Florence.

I darted back up to my room to spirit it to safety before returning to finish my breakfast. I couldn’t wait to dive in.

* * *

Outside the dining room window there had been spring rainfall, and now the sun was making the remaining raindrops shimmer on the tree branches and the top of the grass like dangling diamond earrings.

It was as I was about to clatter back up the staircase after breakfast so I could begin packing that I heard what sounded like frustrated sighs coming from inside the study. The door was ajar. I then heard a few annoyed murmurs. It sounded like Alison. I was certain of it.

I whirled round and down the few steps towards the partially closed study door.

This time, I resolved to knock like a normal person. I raised my hand and gave the door a light tap.

‘Come in.’

I stepped inside.

I hadn’t had the opportunity before to take a proper look around. Alison and Bennett’s office consisted of a semi-circular glass desk with a caramel-coloured, leather swivel chair and views of the gardens.

Potted plants sat on the surrounding shelves in between family photographs of Evan and Dane; everything from the two of them as podgy, cute, gurning babies to gangly school kids and shaggy-haired students, and then more modern photos of them.

There was one of Evan in a rugby kit, his hair tousled as he grinned down the camera, and another of Dane on stage, his head flung back as he belted a song into the mic. Both pictures took pride of place on a shelf behind Alison.

Her eyes were glazed with tears as I looked at her. She was hunched over behind the desk.

‘Oh, Alison. Are you alright?’ Daft question. I could see she wasn’t. She looked like she was carrying the world’s problems.

She brushed her face with the back of her hand. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’

I hesitated before clicking the door closed behind me and tilting my head to one side. ‘Really?’

Her mouth trembled. ‘No.’ She slumped back in her leather chair. She picked up a pen and tapped it on some papers littered on the desk in front of her. ‘Invoices,’ she croaked. ‘Every year that passes we all get older, and so does The Ramblings. That means the maintenance and repairs become more serious and more frequent.’

I hauled up a chair that was stationed in the corner and sank down into it.

Alison continued to fiddle with her rose-gold pen. The sun shimmered down one side of her troubled expression. ‘This house is part of Bennett. Who he is. It belonged to his parents, grandparents and great grandparents.’

I had grown fond of Alison in this short space of time. I wished my mother had been like her: caring and kind instead of the self-absorbed, unfeeling woman I’d had instead.

Alison blew out a cloud of frustrated air. ‘We’re like ducks at the moment: serene on top but paddling like hell beneath the water.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said with genuine feeling. ‘Isn’t there some way that you could generate some extra income?’